Interruption Seven

Interruption Seven

So many grooms got cold feet the night before their wedding. All Cyril had to do was wait in the forest outside the castle, and Prince Frederick ran straight toward him. Didn’t even see Cyril lurking in the shadows—which defeated the purpose of his poised and menacing looming, but the young man seemed so distracted and distraught that Cyril forgave him.

A puff of fairy dust, and the groom was putty in his hands. If the dust lasted longer, he could have simply forced the groom all the way to the altar to play his part in the grand finale. However, dust only lasted a few hours at most, and the more often someone had been exposed to it, the stronger their resistance grew. After only two minutes, the groom was already fighting Cyril’s commands.

“No, no, when I told you to walk, I meant forward, not in circles!” Cyril grabbed the prince’s arm and yanked him along the path. He didn’t have long to stash the groom before he risked being caught by a palace guard. Or worse, his wife. She would not be pleased to see him interfering, even if his purpose was to ensure the wedding went forward and then ruin it.

He’d left his carriage behind, wanting to remain inconspicuous, and he couldn’t ride the shadows like his minions. That meant he had to find somewhere within walking distance.

Good thing he already knew where to find a magic tower.

The shadow-walker and the imp waited at the tower’s entrance, neither strong enough to break the barrier. Cyril wasn’t sure he would be strong enough either—whoever had enchanted the locks for the young prince was a formidable mage—but he didn’t need to worry about breaking and entering, he already had the key.

“Open the door.”

The prince raised his hand slowly, his whole body shaking as he resisted the command.

Cyril touched the pouch of fairy dust hanging from his belt, considering another dose. He only needed the prince to cooperate long enough to get him into the tower, but he was reluctant to waste a whole handful for what would amount to three minutes of control.

The prince’s fingers curled toward his palm. Instead of grabbing the doorknob to unlock the door, he raised his hand higher, holding up a defiant middle finger.

The imp cackled and fell backwards, rolling around in the air in a fit of mirth. Even the shadow-walker snorted, though its black face revealed no expression.

Less amused, Cyril grabbed the prince’s hand and forcefully placed it on the knob. The lock opened with a click, and they shoved their way inside. The prince didn’t move, so Cyril had to go back outside, grab the prince’s arm, and yank him into the tower.

The prince shook off Cyril’s arm. His eyes were still unfocused, but he was clearly coming back to himself. “Who the fuck—” A large book struck him on the back of the head, cutting off his words. The prince swayed on his feet, then fell forward, crashing into a coffee table. The sturdy furniture refused to buckle under the sudden weight.

“What did you do that for?” Cyril demanded, scowling at the imp.

“He woke up! He shouldn’t wake up in the middle of a kidnapping. That’s not allowed.”

Cyril pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not trying to injure him.”

The imp and the shadow-walker exchanged a look. At least, Cyril thought the shadow-walker looked back, it was difficult to tell. “So, why did we capture him?”

“So that he couldn’t escape off to one of his lovers! One night in someone else’s arms, and he probably wouldn’t show up to the wedding. This man will make it to the altar and my wife will enjoy the wedding of the century or there will be dire consequences.” What he didn’t say was that he was the one who would experience those consequences. Just imagining the tears shed already sent a shudder down his spine.

What was done was done. Perhaps if the groom had a concussion, he would be easier to get to the altar. Sighing, Cyril said, “Grab a chair and find some rope. I want him tied down tight before I deal with him.”